Page 35 of The Shield
“I was going to write my own,” I said.
“Good girl,” he said, and for once, it didn’t prickle. It warmed.
The rain thickened. The band draped itself over us for real. Sirens rose and fell. Volunteers in yellow slickers wrestled sawhorses into place a block down. My phone vibrated with a dozen little needs, and for once I didn’t feel like I had to do them all myself. I had a list. I had a voice. I had a city that would, at the very least, listen long enough to argue.
I also had a man whose last name I didn’t know, whose body I knew like I’d been waiting my whole life to learn it. I thought of the way the police had looked at his license, the way the temperature had shifted, and puzzled at it for a second. Then I put the puzzle back on the shelf. Complications could wait their turn.
“Ready?” Owen asked as the Public Information Officer waved us toward another camera.
“I am,” I said, and stepped into the frame.
14
ETHAN
Atlas guided me through the grand corridors of Dominion Hall, my wet boots leaving faint impressions on the polished floors, the rain still clinging to my clothes like a lingering shadow. The air inside held a weight, a blend of aged wood and a subtle tension that seemed to pulse through the walls, wrapping around me as we moved.
We paused at a heavy oak door, its carvings worn smooth by years of hands brushing past, and a staff member stepped aside as Atlas pushed it open with a quiet creak, motioning me inside.
The war room revealed itself slowly—long and dimly lit, centered by a massive table of dark walnut, its surface etched with the faint scars of maps and countless meetings. The walls were lined with charts and screens, their soft glow casting shifting shadows across the space. A low hum of electronics filled the room, mingling with the distant sound of rain tapping against the windows. I stepped forward, my pulse steady but my thoughts churning, the encounter with the gray-suited man still fresh and unsettling in my mind.
One by one, the Dominion Hall brothers entered, each introduced by Atlas with a simple nod and a name that seemed to carry its own quiet authority.
First came Ryker, his broad frame carrying a rugged handsomeness, his jawline set with a quiet intensity that spoke of battles endured, his eyes restless yet thoughtful, his voice a low growl softened by a hint of dry humor.
Next was Marcus, his lean build marked by a tousled charm, his eyes glinting with a sharp, mischievous wit, his movements deliberate with a smartass edge that hinted at a mind always ready with a quip.
Atlas, his massive presence a steady anchor, his strong features framed by a calm that masked deeper currents, his voice a deep, resonant tone that filled the space.
Elias followed, his studious eyes sparkling with a rogue’s mischief, his hands moving with a restless energy.
Noah entered with a quiet grace, his tall form marked by a weathered handsomeness shaped by solitude, his steady gaze reflecting patience and precision, his silence speaking volumes.
Charlie strolled in, his relaxed posture exuding a warm, approachable demeanor, his easy smile lighting his face, his drawl smooth and teasing, suggesting a man who balanced charm with a steady resolve.
And then, almost unnoticed, Silas slipped into the room as the rest of us took a seat, his lean figure moving with a haunting stillness, his pale gray eyes holding a cold, lethal intent that spoke of a ghost thriving in the shadows—his voice a low, gravelly whisper, each word laced with a threat that lingered like smoke.
We settled into their chairs around the table, their eyes turning to me with a blend of curiosity and quiet assessment. I sat near the head, feeling the weight of their gazes, my damp clothes a stark contrast to their dry, composed appearances.
Atlas leaned forward, his hands resting on the table, and his voice broke the stillness. "Ethan, tell us exactly what happened."
I recounted it all—the light knock at Natalie’s door, the calm way the man in the gray suit had spoken my name, the casual shrug about a personal invite, the mention of Caleb and Jacob.
My voice remained steady, though I caught Marcus glancing at Ryker, a quick, unspoken exchange passing between them. When I finished, I turned to Marcus, my tone firm but measured. "What was that look for?"
Another glance flickered between Marcus and Ryker, a silent dialogue I couldn’t unravel. Ryker shifted slightly, his tone carrying a hint of impatience as he nodded toward Marcus. "Tell him."
Marcus leaned back in his chair, a smirk spreading across his face with a smartass gleam. "Maybe, just maybe, that gray suit guy is the same one Jacob and I ran into a few days ago. Could be a coincidence, but these days coincidences are like assholes, they’re popping up everywhere."
My blood stirred, a mix of relief and confusion rising within me. "My brothers? Where are they?"
The room grew quiet, a soft murmur rippling among the brothers as their heads dipped in a hushed exchange.
Then Silas’s voice cut through, a low, gravelly whisper that carried a dangerous weight, bringing a stillness to the space. "Tell him."
A heavy pause followed, the air thickening with anticipation. I looked around, the weight of their stares pressing down on me.
"Tell me what?" I asked, my voice low, a sense of dread beginning to settle in my gut. No one spoke at first, the silence stretching until it felt unbearable. "Is Jacob dead?" The question burst out, raw and urgent, my fists clenching against the table’s edge.
